


Aspara, Queen of Sadala

by lisac1965



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Book of Esther AU, Drama/Sci-fi, F/M, No tails, Rated M for one non-explicit sex scene, Vegeta is King, not Prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-16 11:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18690571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisac1965/pseuds/lisac1965
Summary: A refugee on the planet Sadala, Bulma, along with several young Saiyan women, is taken by order of King Vegeta to the palace to vie as queen. Forced to use her Saiyan name and conceal her human identity, Bumla knows she must either become queen or end up as part of the king’s harem. Ultimately, she is met with an even greater challenge when she must risk her life to save the humans from slaughter.Written for the Vegebulocracy Mini Bang.Proud nominee of the  2019 Annual Awards for Best of the Kudos: 100 Kudos or Less. Thank you everyone who nominated! <3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> So, after months of writing, editing, rearranging paragraphs, and other major surgical procedures that go into writing- fanfiction or otherwise- I finally present to you my submission for the Vegebuloctacy 2019 Mini Bang!
> 
> I want to extend my heartfelt thanks to @guardian.eris for beta reading for me, and to @DianaeFox for giving me a much needed second pair of eyes for final edits. You guys are lifesavers!
> 
> Also, a big thank you to @jadefyre(musicofthespheres) for her beautiful artwork (featured in ch. 4. Stay tuned)!
> 
> This work is based on the Book of Esther. I had not read it in a long time nor did I read it while writing so as not to restrict myself. As a result, some of the events are not in the same order as in the historical account, but still seems to work for this story.
> 
> This work is complete and will be uploaded one chapter per day.
> 
> Enjoy! <3

 

It was a night of celebration and merriment. A night of feasting and dancing, of wine and song. A night of heathenism and indulgence, all in honor of the king’s birthday.

 

The celebrations were four nights in now, and King Vegeta was growing weary of it. He had indulged himself with all the trappings his heart desired. Indulged in wine and women and the most succulent food in all of Sadala. Now all he wanted was peace and quiet.

 

The king stood on the balcony, finishing off the last of his wine. Above him, fireworks blazed the night sky, the light of them playing on his face. Below, the people of the Capitol were celebrating in their own way, with music and dancing in the streets.

 

His namesake father lived for such celebrations, which often lasted weeks at a time. Of course, they were far more riotous than this, complete with thrown furniture and broken windows. Even residents in the dwellings surrounding the Capitol would lose sleep due to the ruckus. The boisterous merriment presently going on inside was little more than a purr compared to those parties.

 

“Sire,” a voice addressed from behind.

 

“What now, Zarbon?” the king groaned before handing his now empty chalice to his pea-green adviser. “I already said I was stepping out for air. Whatever it is I’m sure you can handle it.”

 

“No issues, your Majesty,” Zarbon replied. “Just seeing to the king’s welfare.”

 

“I’ll fare much better once this party’s over,” Vegeta grumbled.

 

“Shall I order the guests to leave, Sire,” Zarbon asked.

 

“That won’t be necessary,” the king said, knowing his adviser’s sarcasm when he heard it.

 

“Pleasant night, isn’t it, your Majesty?” Zarbon said after a few moments.

 

“It’s peaceful,” Vegeta admitted. “I’ll say that much.”

 

“With all the celebratory activity going on...”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Vegeta corrected. “Everyone’s free. Free to celebrate, to live their lives. A far cry from when my father ruled here, oppressing and enslaving low-class Saiyans and outsiders. I had to practically twist his arm to convince him to let the humans fight with us against Frieza. We may have lost that war without them.”

 

“No doubt,” Zarbon said from experience, having been part of Frieza’s fighting forces before the war that put an end to the tyrant. “But, despite that, the people still cry for their erasure.”

 

“Let them cry,” King Vegeta stated. “Sure, I don’t buy into this dragon god of theirs. But as long as they respect the law and make no move to rise against me, I will treat them as I would treat anyone else in my kingdom.”

 

“They also wish to know when they will have a queen, Sire. You are in need of an heir.”

 

“I know, I know,” the king groused. “I just haven’t found anyone suitable enough yet.”

 

“Perhaps one of the young ladies from the harem?”

 

“I will _not_ have one of my father’s hand-picked concubines as my queen!” Vegeta spat. “Besides, I’ve had more than my fill of them.”

 

“Shall I have them exiled, your Majesty?” Zarbon offered.

 

“You can let my guests have their way with those trollops before throwing them out in the streets for all I care,” the king snapped.

 

Vegeta moved closer to the railing, arms folded, overlooking the city contemplatively. “She’s out there, somewhere,” he mused. “I can feel it.”

 

“Are you considering a tour of the cities to find her, your Majesty?” Zarbon asked, still holding the king’s chalice.

 

“Either that or we cart all the single, young women here,” Vegeta suggested, half joking.

 

“Actually, Sire, we do have the means to do just that,” Zarbon told him. “We have enough men and wagons to collect them, more than enough housing to accommodate them, and plenty of resources to meet their basic needs. And you would gather your own harem in the process.”

 

Vegeta thought about it for a moment. Perhaps it wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. He had meant it when he told Zarbon to get rid of his father’s harem. Now, he had a plan to have his own waiting at his doorstep and choose from them his queen.

 

“Pool whatever resources you need,” the king ordered. “Begin gathering every eligible young woman in the Capitol and surrounding cities and bring them here, beginning tomorrow morning.”

 

“As you wish, Sire.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Sunlight streamed through the window, waking her.

 

Bulma sat up and stretched. She was never one to waste the day sleeping in. Her mind was always full of ideas for new inventions, though she barely had enough resources to see them to fruition.

 

She climbed out of bed, gathered her blue hair into a messy bun and checked, as always, to make sure her seven star orb was still safe around her neck. It had been her mother’s, a marble sized amber ball with seven tiny red stars in perfect hexagonal formation, six stars surrounding the seventh.

 

When she was a child, her parents told her how the orb was their sacred reminder of Shenron’s power and promise. She and her older sister, Tights, were told of the Dragon’s many miracles, from countless victories over their enemies to raising the dead and restoring entire planets.

 

Her father had given the orb to her mother as a wedding gift. He had fashioned it out of real amber, placing the stars strategically inside, spending weeks making it perfect for her before the big day.

 

They had lived on a science vessel, the Roshi, where her father was a member of the crew. When they discovered this planet, their captain had ordered the ship to be taken into orbit so they could observe the civilizations below. Once they had reached orbit, a marauder of warships ascended from the surface and attacked.

 

All she remembered was the violent shaking and the captain’s voice over the comm. system announcing that their ship was under attack. Soon, parents filtered into her classroom, including her father, and told their children they were abandoning ship. The Saiyans had boarded by then, taking the survivors prisoner. They had lost nearly two-thirds of their crew, including her mother and sister.

 

Many of them were kept in dungeons. Several were forced to serve as slaves. They were abused and mistreated, beaten and violated, starved and overworked, kept in deplorable conditions, treated worse than animals, and all because they were ‘inferior foreigners.’

 

Her father gave her the orb for her sixteenth birthday, shortly after the war with Frieza had taken the life of their tyrannical king. His son ascended to the throne and at last brought peace to the kingdom.

 

Prisoners were released. Slaves were freed, and those who wished to work for wages were paid, though modestly. They had their own settlement on the outskirts of the Capitol and were free to live as they so choose. Her father, known by everyone as Mr. Brief, had invented the weapons that made the humans such formidable allies. He was now in charge of maintenance and repairs at the palace and one of the king’s most trusted employees.

 

No one was sure if it were out of gratitude for the humans’ assistance in the war or if the junior king was just a better man than his father. But not a day went by when Bulma wouldn’t thank Shenron for delivering them from the slavery and oppression they had once endured.

 

She was making breakfast when her father entered the house just as expected, given his duties at the palace the night before.

 

“Good morning, my dear,” Mr. Brief said, kissing his daughter on the cheek.

 

“Have fun, dad?” Bulma asked.

 

“Exhausted,” he replied.

 

“Breakfast is almost ready,” she said as he took his seat at the table.

 

When Bulma turned to serve their breakfast, her father was wringing his hands with an expression that told her something was bothering him.

 

“Dad,” she said as she placed their breakfast on the table, “is something wrong?”

 

“We need to talk,” Mr. Brief said as he motioned her to sit down.

 

He took a deep breath.

 

“Last night the king decided to banish his father’s harem and gather his own, finding a queen in the process. So now, every eligible young women in the kingdom is to be taken to the castle, beginning today.”

 

Bulma stared at her father for a moment, perplexed. “Uh…” She shrugged. “What does that have to do with us?”

 

“Think about it, Bulma,” her father stated. “You are a young woman yourself, and no doubt a likely candidate-”

 

“Oh, no. _I’m_ not going to the castle for some royal cattle call!” she said emphatically.

 

“You don’t understand,” he said, sweat on his brow, hands shaking. “He’s got men out there right now combing the kingdom as we speak. If they decide to take you-.”

 

“Why would they even _want_ me?” she asked. “I don’t look Saiyan.”

 

“Well, you don’t exactly look like most humans, either,” her father reminded, her blue hair and unusually pale skin the result of a genetic mutation. “Your appearance may be reason enough for you to be a target. For all we know, they might peg you as some exotic beauty.”

 

Bulma had to admit, her father had a point. Her unusual beauty had in fact attracted males of different species, including Saiyans and humans, yet she’d never taken a suitor. And now…

 

“So now he’s carting us all to his castle so he could have his jollies whenever he wants?” she said. “I thought he had more class than that.”

 

“He’s been merciful,” Mr. Brief offered, “but he’s spoiled and privileged. Whatever the king wants, he gets, by any means necessary. How we feel about it doesn't matter. If the king wishes it, we have to obey.”

 

“So, what am I supposed to do?” Bulma snapped. “Hide until this is over? Not let them find me? Is that it?!”

 

“That may not be enough,” he said. “They may go door-to-door and search the houses if they have to.”

 

He leaned forward, regarding her seriously. “Bulma, I want you to promise me something.”

 

“Okay,” she said as she leaned in closer.

 

“There are still a lot of Saiyans in the castle who want us all dead. So in the event that you should be taken, I want you to promise me you will not reveal to anyone that you are human. In fact, I strongly urge you to use your Saiyan name.”

 

Bulma balked at that. Use her Saiyan name? She hated that name. Hated it with a _passion._ When her crew was initially captured, all the children were registered with Saiyan names so they could easily be adopted out to ‘proper Saiyan families,’ should the need arise.

 

“ _Promise_ me, Bulma,” her father pleaded.

 

She reached up to her orb and held it, determined that Shenron would see them through this new turn of events. He hadn’t let them down before, even in the worst of times. He won’t fail them now.

 

“I don’t believe it will come to that,” she said finally. “But if it does, well, okay.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Within a week, food and supplies were running low. It was time for their regular trip to the street market. Mr. Brief had suggested he go alone, but Bulma needed to buy food as well as supplies for specific projects she was hoping to get started on. She would take her chances.

 

Bulma loved the street market. It was the only place she could find a variety of parts and tools for her projects. Several of the vendors were there to sell parts from old gadgets, so the price was usually right if you haggled long enough.

 

Bulma stayed close to her father upon his insistence. She hated being treated like a child, even if it was for her own welfare. Oh, she knew the circumstances, but that did nothing to ease her restlessness.

 

After a while, she and father were at a booth where he was negotiating the price of a part he needed for one of his own inventions. Bored, Bulma looked around at the other booths until she spied one across the way with a small motor that would be perfect for one of her projects.

 

A patron headed for the same booth. Maybe he was interested in that same part. If she was going to acquire it herself she had to act quickly.

 

Glancing back at her father who was still haggling with the vendor, Bulma made her way to the booth. She would only be a few feet away. She would be fine.

 

“Excuse me,” she told the vendor. “I’m interested in that little motor of yours. Is it in good condition?” As the man demonstrated the item, something came into Bulma’s periphery that caught her attention.

 

Hovering toward her was a large, white paddy wagon bearing the royal Saiyan crest. She looked back over to where she’d left her father.

 

He was no longer there.

 

Panicked, Bulma clutched her orb, silently praying for a way out as the wagon slowed to a stop. Four large, muscular Saiyans emerged, hunting down and taking any young women within their reach.

 

“Dad!” she called as she sprinted away from the large Saiyans, only to be intercepted by one of them.

 

“Well, well,” he said with a sinister smirk. “Never seen a girl that looked like _you_ before. I think the king will be pleased. Don’t you think so?” he asked, looking past her shoulder.

 

“Very pleased, indeed,” another Saiyan replied from behind as she tried to get away.

 

“Oh, no you don’t,” the first Saiyan said as he threw her effortlessly over his shoulder, carrying her to the wagon as she flailed and screamed.

 

“Dad! Let me _go!_ Dad! _Help! Dad..!”_

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

“Bulma?”

 

Mr. Brief had no success negotiating with the vendor, so he moved on. It wasn’t until after he had rounded the corner and heard her screams that he realized she wasn’t with him.

 

“Bulma!” he yelled as he ran in her direction. But by the time he returned to where he had left her, it was too late. The royal paddy wagon was moving away and she was nowhere in sight.

 

He kept calling for her, hoping that she had gotten away and was hiding, but still no response.

 

There was an object in the roadway, glimmering in the sunlight. It was Bulma’s orb. The clasp was broken, meaning it had been pulled from her neck when she was captured.

 

As he knelt down to pick it up, he relived the moment he’d found this same necklace in the corridor of their ship during the attack. He had lost his wife and oldest daughter all those years ago. Bulma was all he had left. And now…

 

 _No,_ he decided. _I will not lose heart._ Bulma would still be alive and well, cared for by palace royalty. She would be safe, provided she keeps her promise. And since he worked in the castle, he would still be able to see her and make sure she was okay.

 

 _Shenron, protect her,_ he silently prayed. _She’s in your hands, now._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the wonderful comments! 
> 
> Here's ch 2. Enjoy! <3

Five other women were hauled into the back with her. There were no windows and it was dimly lit, but she could see them huddling together as they wept. Clearly, they didn’t have a clue why they were so abruptly taken from their families.

 

But Bulma knew. She knew about the king’s plan to seek out a queen. Knew he was gathering himself a harem. She knew that not only her life, but the lives of these frightened young women, were changed forever. Their dreams of home and family and future would never be fulfilled. Her throat constricted as tears of her own welled in her eyes and fell freely.

 

She shouldn’t have stepped away from her father. Should have stayed by his side at all times as he had instructed. But no. She just  _ had  _ to try and get that damned part for her project and disobey him. And now here she was, being taken away from him and everything she knew for nothing more than the king’s own enjoyment.

 

That part, that moment of weakness, wasn’t worth her freedom.

 

They made two more stops, taking another nine women in all, before reaching the castle. Once the wagon stopped, the back doors were opened and the women were escorted out. They crossed the black and grey tiled floor into a massive room with brown marbled walls and pillars. Before them stood a towering stone statue of the Oozaru, god of the Saiyans.

 

The cloying smell of burning incense assaulted Bulma as she looked around at the women she had accompanied, all questioning one another as to why they had been taken here. They were all dark haired and bronzed skinned, casting glances at her due to her strange appearance. She had never felt more like a sore thumb in her life.

 

“Greetings,” said a deep voice sounding none too welcoming. A tall, green-skinned man with pointed ears- a Namekian- stood before them, wearing a white turban and cape. “My name is Piccolo, and I’ve been assigned to look after you. Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering why you’ve been brought here.”

 

_ Oh, yes, please, do tell them why we’ve all been ripped away from our homes against our will,  _ Bulma thought with ire.

 

“You are all here by order of his majesty, King Vegeta, who wishes to elect one of you as his queen. And by that, I mean you and over a hundred other women brought here within the past few days.”

 

Several of the women gasped in surprise. Being queen, for many of them, must have been their dream. The way the king went about it, however, was a different story.

 

“One of you will be chosen as queen,” Piccolo continued. “The rest will be brought into the king’s harem. And, before you ask, none of you will be sent home. So, I suggest you all make yourselves comfortable.”

 

“Boy, he doesn’t pull any punches, does he,” Bulma mumbled to one of the women next to her.

 

“You!” Piccolo yelled. Bulma looked at him, pointing to herself when she noticed several pairs of black eyes on her. “Yes, you with the blue hair. If you’ve got something to say, speak up!”

 

_ Oh, wonderful! _

 

“Uh… well… um,” she muttered, squirming like a worm on a hook, “I… I just thought maybe you should be, you know, a little more... compassionate.”

 

The man’s brows knit. “Compassionate?” he queried. “If you were expecting to be coddled-”

 

“Not at all,” she said. “It’s just, we’ve been taken from our homes and, well, we’re a little scared.”

 

“I assure you, all of you be well cared for,” Piccolo stated.

 

“That’s beside the point,” she told him. “We weren’t given a choice.”

 

“So, you assume you are little more than prisoners of the king,” he said, giving her a stern look. “On the contrary, you should consider yourselves fortunate to have been given the opportunity to earn the highest seat in the kingdom bestowed upon a woman. So if I were you, I would consider holding my tongue and avoid a fate far worse than being made one of the king’s concubines.”

 

Upon hearing that, Bulma realized she would be best off to just go along with it for now.  There was really nothing else she could do.

 

“Okay,” she said, conceding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start anything.”

 

“Humph!” he replied before continuing. “As I was saying, this is your home now. You will all undergo preparations before meeting with the king, and you’ll be assigned help to assist you. In the meantime, I will escort you to your living quarters.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

“What the hell were you thinking?” rebuked one of the three women Bulma now roomed with. “Were you trying to get us all into trouble?”

 

“Look, I didn’t even think he’d hear me, I swear,” Bulma insisted. “He called me out. What else was I supposed to do?”

 

“Keep your mouth shut, that’s what,” another of her roommates replied. “We’ve already had our lives turned upside-down. The last thing we need is for anyone to think we’re going to cause trouble over this.”

 

“Hey, I was pissed, okay?”

 

“And you don’t think the rest of us are?” the wild haired Saiyan asked.

 

“Look, I said I was sorry, uh...”

 

“Caulifla. And, you are?”

 

“Bu…” She caught herself, remembering her promise to her father, loath as she was to do so. “Uh… Aspara. My name is Aspara.”

 

“Well, Aspara,” Caulifla continued, “if we’re going to get along, I suggest you remember what’s at stake here if you open your big mouth again.”

 

“Trust me it won’t happen again,” Bulma assured before turning back to the other Saiyan. “And, you are..?”

 

“Kale,” she answered.

 

“What about you,” Caulifla called to their roommate laying on one of the bunks. “Might as well all get acquainted while we’re at it.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” she answered with little enthusiasm. “Gula.”

 

“Hey,” Bulma said as she walked to the bunk and sat. “Caulifla’s right. We’re all unhappy about what’s happening, but I think we should be thankful it isn’t anything worse. We’ll all get through this,” she said, looking at all three of them and wanting to believe those words herself.

 

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. Caulifla answered with Kale following and Gula rolling over, not really caring.

 

Bulma was surprised to see Chi-Chi at the door. Chi-Chi was close a friend of hers from the Roshi, and had married one of the king’s guards while serving as palace help.

 

“We thought you might want to shower before the midday meal,” she told them as she walked in, handing each girl a change of clothes consisting of a simple, short-sleeved dress, undergarments and a pair of flats. When she was about to greet her friend, Bulma put a finger to her own lips, shushing her and pulling her aside as the other girls talked.

 

“I can’t let anyone know I’m human,” she told her discreetly, “so I’m going by my Saiyan name.” Chi-Chi nodded in understanding as she escorted the women from their tiny room. As they proceeded to the showers they were joined by several other women carrying similar changes of clothes.

 

“Glad you survived living here so far,” Bulma teased.

 

“Perk of being wife of a royal guard,” Chi-Chi said.

 

“How is Kakarot, by the way,” Bulma asked.

 

“Great, actually,” Chi-Chi replied. “He’s one of the king’s chief guards now.”

 

“That’s great.”

 

“Yeah,” she enthused. “All the more reason for these Saiyans not to mess with me.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Over the next several weeks, the women all underwent preparations from beauty treatments to etiquette training. They were educated in kingdom politics and command structure within the palace.

 

As promised, the royal candidates were all treated well. They were allowed to go anywhere in the castle and on palace grounds barring restricted areas. They were well fed, treated respectfully, and had palace help at their beck and call.

 

Mr. Brief would often visit with Bulma whenever possible. If anyone asked how they knew each other, they would say they were old family friends. No one was the wiser, at least for now.

 

The time came for the candidates to be taken in small groups and be given appropriate dress for their interview. When it was time for Bulma’s group, they were escorted into a large room with rack after rack of the most gorgeous dresses she had ever seen. On tables and displays were all sorts of fine jewelry and accessories.

 

“Remember, women,” Piccolo addressed, “you are to select only what you will be wearing for your first meeting with the king. So, choose wisely.”

 

Once the group was released to their task, everyone but Bulma dove right in. She knew her best course of action was to become queen, considering the alternative. She wanted to do this right.

 

“Sure would be a hell of a lot easier if I knew what the king liked,” she mumbled to herself.

 

“There is nothing in this wardrobe that would not please the him,” Piccolo told her. She looked him dead in the eye.

 

“Look, buddy,” she whisper-yelled, trying not to be heard by the other candidates, “in case you’ve forgotten, I didn’t choose to be here; so I’m not about to half-ass my way to being one of ‘his royal majesty's’ playthings. I’m going for broke here, so throw me a bone already!”

 

“You approach the king with such conduct and it won’t make any difference what you wear,” the Namekian stated.

 

“Okay, look,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I just want to make a good first impression, that’s all,” she admitted. “I don’t know where to start.”

 

Piccolo looked around at the other women as they eagerly selected their garments. None of them seemed to care if what they chose would be right for their interview, as long as it was something  _ they  _ liked. Bulma’s concern for choosing what would please the king, he thought, was refreshing.

 

“I’ll help you,” he said finally. “But keep this between us. Is that understood?”

 

“I will,” she nodded. “I promise.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Over the next several days the women were escorted one by one to the throne room for their interview. Some of them would return confident that they had done well. Others came out of it in tears. But most of them simply weren’t sure how they fared, saying the king was hard to read.

 

Bulma had hoped to gauge what to expect from the other candidates, but such mixed responses made her apprehensive when her turn came.

 

With Piccolo’s help she had selected a long orange dress with mid-length sleeves which contrasted beautifully with her hair. For jewelry, she kept it simple, wearing two rings on one hand and one on the other. For earrings, a pair of gold studs. Around her neck, a circular white tile hand painted with the royal Saiyan crest. Her hair was braided in a Dutch crown with loose hair cascading her back and shoulders. A simple pair of blue slippers completed the ensemble.

 

“Now remember,” Piccolo said as he escorted her. “The king likes his women to be strong, confident, self-assured, but also respectful. Can you do that?.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she said as they approached the throne room, her heart racing, palms sweating.

 

Bulma stood in front of the double doors which were guarded by Kakarot and a large, bald Saiyan; Nappa by name. She took a deep breath as Piccolo signaled them to grant her entrance.

 

The man seated before her regarded her sternly, chiseled features hardened, strong eyebrows knit.

 

Bulma walked a few meters towards him.

 

“Come closer,” King Vegeta said, motioning her to do so. She only took a few more steps, afraid of imposing herself. “Closer,” he prompted again. She obeyed, moving forward until he held out a hand signaling her to stop.

 

She faced forward, not looking the king in the eyes as instructed. Yet she could still see him scrutinizing her, squint-eyed. Bulma wasn’t sure for how long before he finally rose and approached her.

 

“Well, I’ve never seen a Saiyan like you before,” he said before casually circling her. She kept her gaze forward, willing her eyes not to follow him. “Blue hair with eyes to match? Skin white as cream?” He stood in front of her, black eyes finding her blues. “Is this the result of some strange regimen?”

 

“A genetic mutation, your Majesty,” she replied. He stared at her for about a minute, looking her up and down.

 

“I see,” he said finally before returning to his throne. “So, what is your name, woman?”

 

“Aspara, your Majesty.”

 

He turned to face her before sitting. “And where are you from, Aspara?”

 

“The West region, your Majesty.”

 

“Well, Aspara of the West region,” he said after another long silence. “I was told you had words with our Namekian the day you arrived. Care to explain?”

 

He was bringing  _ that _ up?

 

_ Breath. Just breath. _

 

“I made a remark about him to one of the girls,” she confessed. “He ordered me to speak up. So I confronted him about his Majesty’s orders to bring us here,” she said, avoiding ‘you’ statements to the king as instructed.

 

“You question my orders?” he accused, though not harshly.

 

“I do not, your Majesty,” she replied. “I only wish we’d been given a choice.”

 

“And if that choice was given, what do you think the result would be?” he asked sternly.

 

_ Breath. _

 

“I do not know, your Majesty,” she admitted.

 

“Exactly,” he said as he descended once again from his throne and approached her. “This kingdom- this entire planet- is mine to command. That means everyone in it is mine to do with as I see fit. I have given this world peace. Made it welcoming to foreigners. Saw to it that all inhabitants had their basic needs met. I even gave you and your fellow candidates free rein of the palace and made sure you were all comfortable and well cared for.”

 

“The comforts of royalty mean nothing without freedom, your Majesty,” she countered, keeping her voice level.

 

“Is that so?” he asked but did not give her a chance to reply. “Woman, I am offering you the opportunity to rule beside me as queen. Or perhaps you would prefer the dungeons,” he dared her.

 

The  _ dungeons? _ Bulma remembered all too well what that was like and realized what she was up against. The king was correct, as was her father. Everyone on this planet was the king’s property to do with as he wished, and she had no choice but to respect that.

 

“My apologies, your Majesty,” she said, bowing. “I will not question your orders again.” The king nodded in approval before returning to his throne.

 

“Speaking of foreigners,” he continued, “I’m curious to know what your thoughts are about the humans.”

 

Bulma wasn’t surprised by that question. Out of all the foreigners that have made Sadala their home, none were more polarizing than her own, though she never understood why.

 

“I believe they have as much right to exist as anyone else on this planet.”

 

“And what about those who disagree with your opinion?” the king queried. “What would you tell them?”

 

She thought a moment before answering. “That if the king wishes to let them live in peace we should follow his example.”

 

“And if I wish otherwise?” Another dare, she assumed.

 

Forsaking protocol, Bulma looked him defiantly in the eye. “I would protect them at all costs, even with my life,” she declared.

 

“You would?” he deadpanned. “You’re either brave, or a fool.”

 

“I’ve been known to be both, your Majesty,” she quipped, her attempt at humor falling flat.

 

“And what about this make-believe god of theirs?”

 

Heat rose up Bulma’s legs and into her stomach as she tried desperately not to clench and unclench her fists. Nothing offended her more than someone denying Shenron’s existence, even the king.

 

_ Breath! _

 

“I assume their god is as real to them as the Oozaru is to the Saiyans, your Majesty.”

 

“Fair enough,” the king admitted. “But if that were the case, why didn’t their dragon god save them from my father’s forces?”

 

Bulma realized that if she went into detail over her beliefs she would not only risk exposing her identity, she would engage the king in a religious debate that would last longer than this interview was supposed to be. So she had to tackle this one from another angle.

 

“May I pose a question, your Majesty?”

 

He gave her a stern look, then nodded.

 

“If the god of the humans isn’t real, why do the Saiyans fear him?”

 

King Vegeta held her gaze for a full minute. Bulma hoped she hadn’t crossed the line.

 

“Well,” he said finally, “you are a brave one, and clever, I’ll give you that.”

 

Bulma exhaled. This was only the first few minutes in. She’ll be lucky if she survives the rest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma learns a little more about her king, who makes his choice for his queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter and I do hope you enjoy reading it! Don't forget to leave me a comment down below. <3

“You  _ told _ him?” Bulma accused as Piccolo escorted her back to her dorm.

 

“Of course I did,” he admitted. “It’s part of my job. Besides, one of the purposes for this interview was to test your resolve.”

 

“With everything else he asked me about, it was hardly necessary,” she griped. “Religion, politics, the economic status, the humans-”

 

“He is looking for a  _ queen _ ,” Piccolo reminded. “And, as queen, the king needs to know he can count on you. Needs to know your opinions and how well you can take command if necessary.”

 

“Yeah, I get that,” she said. “But it was hard enough already without being grilled over something that happened months ago.”

 

“And if an enemy interrogated you about something that, ‘happened months ago,’ what would you tell him?”

 

“Ugh!” she groaned. “Alright, you win.”

 

They proceeded in silence until they reached her dorm. 

 

“Now remember,” he said “it is important to keep up with your grooming regimen-”

 

“So I can be all pretty and soft and sweet-smelling for my ‘next meeting’ with the king,” she said using air quotes. She and the other candidates had been informed during preparations what that would entail, and she still wasn’t quite used to the idea.

 

“Is there a problem?” Piccolo asked, sensing her ire.

 

“Well, it’s just… I… well, I never… uh… you know,” she stammered.

 

“All the better,” Piccolo smirked. “His Majesty will be pleased.”

 

“Yeah, well, from my end it’s a bit daunting,” Bulma admitted. “I mean, I don’t really know what to expect. Besides, I never thought I’d lose my virginity to someone I hardly know, even if he is a king.”

 

“Really?” Piccolo asked, raising a brow. “And how, exactly,  _ did _ you envision it?”

 

“Well,” she shrugged, “I always thought I would meet a guy and spend time getting to know him, and then we would fall in love, maybe even get married, or at least have some kind of commitment before having sex.”

 

Piccolo looked at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “What? Marry a commoner and not the king?”

 

“At least I’d have the commoner all to myself instead of having to share him with a hundred other women,” she spat.

 

“And would there be any guarantee he would remain faithful?”

 

She shook her head. “I guess not.”

 

“And do you not find the king pleasing?”

 

“ _ What?” _ she exclaimed. “All I could think about the whole time I was even in there was giving him straight answers without putting my foot in my mouth. How could I have possibly had a chance to consider if he were good husband material or not?”

 

“As I recall, it was you who told me you were… how did you put it? ‘Going for broke?’” Piccolo stated. “If I’m not mistaken, that was your way of telling me you would not settle for less than the royal title. Or have you forgotten what that title entails.”

 

“Compared to being one of the king’s floozies, I figured I could live with it,” Bulma admitted.

 

Piccolo nodded. “Then I suggest you use your next meeting to get better acquainted with him.”

 

Bulma gave him a curt nod before entering her dorm. As she changed into her everyday wear, she let her mind drift back to that interview.

 

Yes, he was good looking. 

 

Yes, he treated her people respectively. 

 

Yes, he was a ruler with a presence that commanded respect.

 

Intimidating but not threatening. Self assured and not easily swayed. A man of peace who can put up a good fight.

 

But, would she be happy with him?

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

From the time she and her father had settled in the West region, Bulma made it a point to learn what she could about the Saiyans. Physiologically, they were near identical to humans. Sexually, their habits weren’t all that different either. Saiyans, however, were rumored to be sadists in bed, but girl-talk with experienced women proved that wasn’t always the case.

 

After the first meeting each candidate was sent back to their dorm. The second meeting, however, would end with them being sent straight to the harem’s living quarters, which was said to be spacious and elegant, unlike the cramped dorms they were now housed in. But that did nothing to ease Bulma’s apprehension.

 

Weeks, then months, passed as one by one each candidate was sent to the king’s bedchamber.

 

It wasn’t that Bulma didn’t fantasize about her turn with the king. On the contrary, she did. A lot. But, when her time finally came, she couldn’t help but be hesitant. Would the king be too rough with her? Would he respect her? Would he force her to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with?

 

Piccolo arrived at her dorm with a red satin robe, matching slippers and a small thermos, instructing her to strip down completely and put on the robe and slippers. Her hands shook so bad she had to fumble with the robe just to get it on.

 

“Drink this,” he ordered, handing her the thermos after she had changed. It was an herb tea touted an effective contraceptive.The beverage tasted bitter, but she choked it down anyway. Once she had finished, it was time.

 

Her walk to the king’s living quarters was the longest she had experienced since she’d been brought here. Her heart hammered so hard it was practically in her throat. She shivered, yet it had nothing to do with the cool evening temperatures.

 

She had once dreamed of being a princess- a queen- when she was little. But as she grew, that fantasy was pushed aside for dreams of love and home and family, with a husband who loved and cherished her, and only her.

 

Those dreams now shattered, Bulma was heading straight into the unknown. A dead man walking, not to an execution, but into a life with a man she barely knew, not even knowing where she will stand with him in the end. Queen or concubine. Joint ruler or king’s toy. The prospects made her want to curl up somewhere and hide.

 

Once she and Piccolo arrived, she stood in front of the double doors catching her breath as if she had been running when, in fact, she hadn’t.

 

“Any last minute advice?” she asked.

 

“You would be wise to let him take the lead,” her escort advised.

 

“He’s not gonna want to do anything weird to me, is he?”

 

“You should be more concerned about how pleasing you are to him.”

 

“Figures,” she said under her breath.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

“Does it matter?” she said, her voice shaky.

 

Bulma swallowed as Piccolo opened one door for her.

 

Candlelight flickered, casting shadows on the red decor trimmed with black and gold. She looked over at the king sized bed with the royal Saiyan crest carved into its headboard. Across from her among the room’s elegant furnishings was a small table with two chairs. Standing at that table was none other than King Vegeta himself, filling two glasses with red wine.

 

“Aspara,” he addressed as he recapped the wine bottle.

 

“Your Majesty,” she replied, trying to hide the tremor her voice.

 

“Boaberry wine,” he said as he approached her.“Aged nine years. One of the finest elixirs in all of Sadala. An exquisite bouquet commoners only dream about.” He handed her one glass. “Taste.” 

 

Bulma thanked him before taking a sip. The wine was sweet and fragrant. Her father had told her about this wine, that it was stronger than any they’d had on Earth. She was already starting to feel the effects after only a few sips, and thought it best to not finish it- lest she reveal her human identity in a drunken state- and placed it on a nearby end table.

 

“Do you not like the wine?” the king asked.

 

“I like to keep a clear head,” she admitted. “Besides, I get intoxicated too easily.”

 

“You are a puzzle,” the king said after a moment. “Most of the other girls drank more than their fill. A few of them even passed out before we could finish.”

 

The mere thought made Bulma giggle. To her relief, King Vegeta laughed along with her before finishing off his own glass and putting it aside.

 

“Come,” he said as he extended his hand to her, and she obliged, clasping her own trembling hand into his. He escorted her to the bed and sat on the edge, holding her by the waist as she stood between his knees.

 

“So tell me, Aspara,” he said as he reached up to stroke her blue locks, “has any man ever touched you?”

 

She shook her head. “No.”

 

He smiled, gazing up at her affectionately. “Rest assured I have no derogatory intentions towards you. I want this night to be as pleasurable for you as it is for me,” he told her as his hands roamed her body. Her breath hitched as his thumb grazed her nipple through the silken fabric.

 

Apprehension gave way to anticipation as the king reached for her sash and untied it, allowing the robe to open freely. She closed her eyes as his hands explored her naked skin, a mixture of fear and excitement overwhelming her as his mouth, too, caressed the exposed flesh.

 

“I’ve never felt skin this soft before,” he sighed as he pushed the robe off her shoulders, exposing her completely. “You are a vision. An ethereal goddess,” he told her reverently before standing to remove his own robe, and the sight of his naked form made her catch her breath.

 

He was magnificent. A sinewy bronzed god adorned with battle scars, as if he were carved from marble. One prominent scar, which she assumed was from the war with Frieza, was splayed across his chest. Bulma already knew King Vegeta was a ruler who led his armies into battle rather than just sending them out and staying on the sidelines. He would die for his people, that much was certain. Now, she saw the evidence of that first hand. He was lucky to be alive, and he would gladly do it again.

 

She reached up, delicately tracing the scar with her fingertips before leaning in to gently kiss it, eliciting a low moan from him. He cradled her face in his hands, caressing it as her kisses trailed upward until their eyes met. His arms encircled her and pulled her flush against him as his lips met hers, gently at first, then more ardently as he guided her onto the bed.

 

The first round, for Bulma, was clumsy and awkward, even a little painful. True to his word, Vegeta would not settle for that and offered to try again.

 

After having slept with over a hundred other women for the first time, Bulma assumed he would have been burnt out by now and not care about her enjoyment. But the king was a Saiyan, and Saiyans have a great deal of stamina- and super short refractory periods.

 

The second time, he was more patient, taking her cues, asking her what felt good and what didn’t. But it wasn’t until the third time when he finally had her quaking beneath him that he was satisfied.

 

Cradled in his arms, spent and sprawled across his chest, Bulma was surprised at how safe and comfortable she felt with him. Up until now she had only seen him as a ruler to be feared and respected. But tonight, she saw the man beneath the royal mantle. A man who would laugh with her. Drink with her. Pleasure her. But she still wanted to know more about him.

 

“Your Majesty?” she whispered.

 

“Hmm… yes,” he sighed contentedly.

 

“I’ve been curious about something.”

 

He was silent for a moment. “Speak, woman.”

 

“Well, I was just wondering what it was that made you so different from your father.”

 

“I despise him,” he answered without hesitation.

 

“The feeling’s mutual,” she admitted. “But, as his son, why do you hate him so much?”

 

It took him a moment or two before answering. “Ironically enough, I idolized him when I was little. I didn’t know better. He was abusive, not only to our people, but to my mother and me. He would beat her and call her derogatory names. Would punish me constantly for being an inconvenience, always telling me he’d wished I’d never been born.

 

“The abuse carried on through my mother’s pregnancy with my brother, Tarble. One night, around the time she was due to give birth, my father beat her and pushed her down a flight of stairs. She was bleeding and went into labor.

 

“She died from loss of blood once my brother was born. But my father never took responsibility for her death and put all the blame on him. A few years later he exiled him to another planet on some trumped up charges, and he was still just a boy. After that, Frieza purged that planet. No survivors. All my father could say was, ‘good riddance.’

 

“That’s when I swore to myself to be different. To treat others as I wish to be treated. When the humans came, my father deemed them weak and inferior foreigners who relied on a false god and were unworthy of their freedom. But I found them to be clever and resourceful. When Frieza threatened our world, one of the humans, Mr. Brief, showed me schematics he drew for weapons he could build if given the resources. It took me weeks to convince my father to let them help us. He only agreed in the hope of them being killed in battle.”

 

“And some of them were,” she recalled absentmindedly.

 

“Many good people were lost,” he added. “But we prevailed, though it pales in comparison to my father’s death. I even made the man who slew him my chief adviser, provided he abandon Frieza and fight on our side. Terrible, I know, but-”

 

“I don’t blame you,” she interjected. “I lost members of my own family to him. He was cruel, and I’m glad he’s gone.”

 

“Well, I’m glad we are in agreement,” he said, smiling at her as she nuzzled him and closed her eyes.

 

They laid silent and content. Bulma wasn’t sure for how long or even if she had fallen asleep. But when she opened her eyes again, all the candles had burnt out and the first light of dawn streamed through the window.

 

“Guess it won’t be much longer before I’m taken to the harem’s quarters,” she murmured.

 

“You won’t be going,” Vegeta told her.

 

“What?” Bulma gasped, wide eyed.

 

His eyes met hers. “I choose  _ you,  _ Aspara,” he declared.

 

She stared at him, unable to move or speak.

 

He chuckled, amused at her expression. “Are you really so surprised?”

 

It took her a minute to find her voice. “I… I…”

 

“Aspara, listen to me,” he said. “You’ve shown more courage, more resolve, than any of your fellow candidates. You were brave enough to look me in the eye and declare you’d protect the humans with your life. Shown me respect without cowardice. Even came to my bed sober. I actually had more fun last night with you than anyone else I can remember,” he smiled.

 

That last remark made Bulma’s heart soar.

 

“You will be a wise and powerful ruler,” he continued, “highly favored and remembered for generations to come.”

 

“You… you’re sure?” she asked. Was this really happening?

 

“I have no doubt,” he said, caressing her cheek. “We will arrange for your coronation at once, and we’ll be mated when you become queen.”

 

Bulma couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

 

She actually did it!

 

She could live with that.

 

She had to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again the beautiful artwork at the beginning of this chapter is by jadefyre. She also has a great fic she wrote for the Mini Bang called, Revel (In Our Time). https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685324/chapters/44312752 Check it out and give her some love! <3

  
[art by jadefyre](https://jadefyre.ca/post/184616147937)

Bulma had assumed it would take several weeks to arrange for her coronation. But it only took of few days. Most of the arrangements had already been made before the king made his choice. All that was left was for the ceremony to be announced. Bulma also had to make some quick decisions about what to wear and who her attendant would be.

 

Her choice for attendant- who would not only assist her for the ceremony, but for as long as she lived in the palace- was obvious. She and Chi-Chi had already been friends for years, and she needed another human she could confide with in addition to her father.

 

“It’s lovely,” Chi-Chi said of Bulma’s copper gown. The bodice resembled the chestpiece of Saiyan armor, yet fit perfectly with the design.

 

Bulma thanked her friend for the compliment as she placed a gold headpiece on her blue hair. Crowns weren’t part of Saiyan custom, but- for the bride- headpieces were. Her’s dipped gracefully into a ‘v’ across her forehead with a white, opalescent jewel in the center.

 

Chi-Chi placed one more trinket around Bulma’s neck; a gold medallion with the Saiyan crest.

 

She was ready.

 

The ceremony was held in the great ballroom with a crowd of select guests, most of them aristocrats and chief palace employees. Bulma’s father would not be giving her away, but she was still grateful he could attend.

 

When Bulma entered the ballroom, all the attendants stood as she walked down the aisle. Once she reached the platform, Zarbon gave a long-winded speech lauding Sadala’s rich history and the monarchs that came before them. The king himself deemed the speeches to be ‘painfully dull,’ feigning interest until his father was mentioned. The king’s hatred towards him was no secret.

 

Governors and dignitaries from other parts of Sadala also spoke, praising King Vegeta’s many accomplishments and charitable acts, and offered words of welcome for the new queen.

 

Finally, it was time for Bulma to pledge her vows to both king and planet. She detested that Vegeta wasn’t required to make any vows to her, not that it mattered. From the time he told her he had chosen her, all they’d talked about were her duties and responsibilities. Not one word about love or their marital relationship. Just as well. She wasn’t even sure how she felt about him and simply had to accept that this marriage was purely political.

 

The royal couple took center stage and faced each other, Bulma kneeling before him.

 

“I, Aspara, do pledge my life to you, Vegeta, king of Sadala. I pledge to you my loyalty, my body, and my obedience. To obey the law, and to govern our world to the best of my ability. I pledge to serve and defend Sadala at all costs, even until the end.”

 

“Arise,” the king ceremoniously ordered. Once she stood, he took her hand as they both faced their audience. “Citizens and guests, make welcome your new queen, Aspara!” he declared.

 

The audience erupted in applause, hailing their new queen. Once the cheers died down, the royal couple made their way to the balcony, Zarbon and dignitaries following. The king was at the forefront of them, addressing the crowd below.

 

“Citizens of Sadala,” he began, “as you well know, I have spent the past several months in the process of electing a queen. That day has come. Today, I’ve joined to the woman I have chosen to rule at my side. A woman of strength and character. One destined to rule with courage and resolve, wisdom and compassion.

 

“I give to you, Aspara, queen of Sadala!” King Vegeta extended his hand to the new queen, signaling her to come forward. Once Bulma took her place at his side, she waved to the vast sea of spectators and well-wishers cheering and chanting her name.

 

She was now _queen!_ By all rights and respects. The reality of it all was slowly trickling in. It was dizzying. Never had she thought her childhood dream would become a reality, and certainly not like this.

 

“Is everything alright, dear,” Mr. Brief later asked at the reception.

 

“Oh, uh, yes,” Bulma replied.

 

“You seem distracted.”

 

“Well,” she said, looking around her, hoping no one else was listening, “it’s just… overwhelming, that’s all.”

 

“I’m sure it must be. You’re queen of an entire planet.”

 

“Well, it’s just, I still can’t believe he chose _me.”_

 

“Shenron’s given you favor with him,” her father reasoned. “He’s placed you here for a purpose.”

 

“I wish I could believe that.”

 

“Believe it!” he insisted.

 

“Aspara,” King Vegeta called as he approached them. “There are some people I want you to meet.” He turned to her father. “If you will excuse us, Mr. Brief.”

 

“Of course, your Majesty,” he said, bowing his head respectfully as they walked away.

 

“How do you know the old man?” the king asked his new queen. “You’ve spent a great deal of time speaking with him.”

 

“Oh, uh, we’re old family friends,” she replied automatically.

 

“And why did you not say so our first night together? I did mention him.”

 

“I didn’t want to interrupt your story,” she said truthfully.

 

“Then perhaps next time you should,” he joked as he escorted her to the group of dignitaries she had yet to meet.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

“So, was I correct about the ladies?” Zarbon secretly asked his companion, Dodoria, keeper of the harem.

 

“Indeed,” said the prickly, pink alien. “Several of them are quite indignant towards the king, even after all this time. In fact, there’s one who roomed with the new queen. We should have no trouble convincing some of them to assist us.”

 

“Do you think the rest would warn the king?”

 

“Likely,” Dodoria said. “It would be best not to mention any of this to them until we have a plan.”

 

“Oh, we’ll have one,” Zarbon enthused. “It could be as simple as having one of the ladies go to the king’s bed with a weapon. Mark my words, he will die soon after he returns from his tour.”

 

The two snickered before going their separate ways and returning to the reception, not knowing Mr. Brief had recorded the entire conversation with his communicator.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Over the next several weeks, the royal couple toured the various provinces of Sadala. The king would introduce his new queen and familiarize her with his activities and responsibilities. There were meetings with governors, trade and peacekeeping statuses, TV appearances and the like. They also visited the benefactors of the king’s generosity. Foreigners and low-class Saiyans who were once homeless and now had shelter and an income. Hospitals and orphanages the king sponsored and made sure were fully equipped and orphans well treated. Bulma loved meeting the children, giving them words of encouragement and handing out new toys to them. The king had indeed provided for everyone on Sadala. Now, she had the joy of being part of it.

 

Once they returned to the Capitol, King Vegeta called his associates to the throne room and had the guards bring Zarbon and Dodoria in for questioning.

 

“But, Sire, it wasn’t an assassination we were planning,” Zarbon explained, beads of sweat on his brow. “We were planning a surprise reception for your return home.”

 

“That’s right, Sire,” Dodoria added nervously. “We just weren’t ready yet when you arrived, that’s all.”

 

The king gave them a hard stare before lifting his communicator to play the recorded evidence.

 

“ _It could be as simple as having one of the ladies go to the king’s bed with a weapon. Mark my words, he will die soon after he returns from his tour.”_

 

“Your Majesty, we can explain,” Zarbon attempted to no avail.

 

King Vegeta stood. “Guards, take these men and execute them at once for conspiracy to assassinate the king!”

 

Kakarot, Nappa and two other guards obeyed without question, dragging the two would-be assassins out of the throne room. Once they were gone, the king looked over to one of his associates- a tall, strong Saiyan with wild black hair down to his feet- and ordered him to approach the throne.

 

“Raditz, I hereby appoint you chief adviser to the king.”

  
_Finally!_ The Saiyan thought. _Now to convince his Majesty to exterminate the humans._


	5. Chapter 5

Mr. Brief was making his usual rounds, seeing to it that any necessary repairs were being made and nothing was broken. The king settled for nothing less than peak efficiency within the palace, and Brief always saw to it that everything was met with his Majesty’s expectations.

 

He was making his way down the hall when a rock-hard body slammed into him, hard enough to knock him to the floor.

 

“Oh, I am soooo sorry,” the tall Saiyan said, his tone betraying his words.

 

“Raditz,” Mr. Brief huffed once he stood again, shaken but maintaining his composure, “that was underhanded and uncalled for.”

 

“What was,” the Saiyan asked, knowing full well what he meant.

 

“Running into me like that. Throwing your weight around,” Brief accused.

 

“Or maybe you should just watch where you’re doing.”

 

“I’m not in the mood for petty arguments, Raditz,” he stated, fighting the urge to kick him. “I have work to do. Now, if you will excuse me.”

 

Mr. Brief proceeded, but the Saiyan blocked his path.

 

“Out of my way!” the old man ordered, only to have Raditz grab him by the shirt and pin him to the wall.

 

“I don’t take orders from _weak_ _humans!_ ” the Saiyan sneered. “If anything, you should be _kneeling_ before me.”

 

“I kneel before no one but Shenron,” Mr. Brief declared. “Even your king knows that.”

 

Raditz roughly let go of the old man as he glared at him. “I will not say it again,” he told him.  _ “Kneel!” _ But Mr. Brief stood his ground, resulting in the Saiyan slamming him into the wall again, hard enough to make a dent.

 

“Pathetic human, I will see you executed for your insolence” Raditz roared as he walked away, leaving the old man with a headache and a wall in need of repair.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Her days consisted of meeting dignitaries and signing documents. Many of her nights were spent in the arms of the king. They would spend their time together talking about the state of affairs of the kingdom. Or the planet. Sure, they would occasionally have a personal conversation, but Bulma learned little more about the king than what he already had told her. And if he went a stretch without inviting her to his bed, or if she wasn’t in the mood, well, he had his harem.

 

Sure, she should be happy he had chosen her, but as the weeks turned into months she still felt empty. She wondered if she would ever be content with the semblance of marriage they had.

 

They were having breakfast in her quarters as her mind wandered through it all.

 

“Aspara?”

 

“Oh, uh, yes?” Bulma said, the king’s voice pulling her from her thoughts.

 

“I was telling you about my meeting with General Rutaba. I had to address you repeatedly to get your attention,” he told her. “Is everything alright with you?”

 

“Um, yes,” she lied.

 

She let her thoughts drift again as he continued. It was the same jargon as always. Dealings with politicians and military personnel just didn’t interest her. Oh, she was grateful for the responsibilities she had, mainly because they not only gave her a sense of purpose, but also served to distract from her loneliness. Sure, they worked together, dined together, conversed, enjoyed shared nights of passion. Yet something was missing, and Bulma wasn’t sure anymore if she would ever be satisfied with the way things were now. A question stirred in her mind. It had been nagging her for months. The question bubbled inside her until it escaped her lips before she could stop it.

 

“Do you love me?”

 

The king looked at her, caught completely off guard. He pondered for a moment before answering.

 

“I assumed we would grow closer over time.”

 

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

 

“It’s the best I can offer,” he told her sternly. She knew better than to question him, but she just couldn’t let this one lie.

 

“Why did you chose me?” she asked.

 

“I’ve already told you,” he reminded her. “I chose you because you are a strong and capable woman. One who is not afraid to speak her mind and yet still knows her place, or so I thought.” His brow knit accusingly as he spoke the last line.

 

“And it had nothing to do with any personal feelings for me?”

 

“One does not run a kingdom on ‘personal feelings,’” he told her.

 

“No,” she said. “But it  _ is _ the foundation of most relationships, especially marriage.”

 

“Are you insinuating that we don’t have a proper marital relationship?” he asked without giving her a chance to reply. “On the contrary, I’ve made ample time for you outside of our responsibilities, like now. I’ve dined with you, kept company with you, shared my bed with you. What more do you want?”

 

Bulma was pushing him and he was about to break, but she needed to see this one through.

 

“I understand we need to talk about work,” she offered. “But we talk about hardly anything else. I don’t even know that much about you, outside of what you told me our first night together-”

 

“You talk of  _ me _ not being forthcoming about myself?” the king spat as he stood. “What about you? You’ve told me  _ nothing _ of yourself since I’ve met you. Your parents? Your family? Your occupation before coming here? I know  _ none _ of it!”

 

Blood drained from Bulma’s face. He had her. Had her dead to rights! She  _ hadn’t _ disclosed anything about herself to him. She couldn’t without confessing who she really was, and he would have the right to execute her if he found out.

 

She stood, groping for a reply, uncertain how to respond to his accusation. What leg did she even have to stand on?

 

Her quick mind came up with a possible comeback she hoped would work.

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” she admitted. “But even if I did answer those questions, would it change anything between us? Sex aside, I feel as if you regard me as an employee, not a wife.”

 

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone eerily calm. “If that’s what you think, then perhaps that is the treatment you deserve. From here on out we handle all business dealings separately. All necessary communications between us will be relayed by a messenger. And if I am in need of relief, I’ll find it with the others.”

 

Bulma’s mouth opened in shock. He was essentially walking out on her. Over this?

 

“Vegeta-”

 

“You will address me formally!” he snapped. “And I expect no less from you regarding your duties.” He headed for the door and turned to her one last time. “Unless I have called for you, you are not to approach me, or you will be dealt with according to the law.” And then, he was gone.

 

Bulma knew full well what that meant. Anyone who approaches the king without his permission was subject to execution. She couldn’t even go to him to apologize.

 

She sank into her chair as tears rolled down her cheeks, his cruel words running over and over again in her mind. She should have told him the truth. Death would’ve been kinder.

 

She stared blankly at her ivory walls, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Krillin strode down the hall, pad in hand, until he reached the door to King Vegeta’s training room. The facility was designed by Mr. Brief, complete with battle droids and gravity control. Krillin had been assigned to meet with the king at this time. Normally, he would meet him in the throne room, but he’d been directed to the training room this time around.

 

Krillin rang the buzzer and the door unlocked.

 

When he stepped inside, King Vegeta was leaning breathless on the control panel. Broken droids were scattered all over the floor. His majesty always gave himself a good workout, but he usually didn’t leave such a mess in its wake.

 

“What do you want?” the king groaned.

 

“I’ve updated all the stats and reports as you’ve requested, Sire.” the short-statured human replied, waving his pad.

 

“Read it to me,” Vegeta ordered as he sat on the floor. There were months worth of stats to go over, and since the king was in no mood for much of anything else at the moment, he decided there was no better time to get this out of the way.

 

The secretary going over stats with the king was just a formality, and Vegeta only half listened, his mind drifting back to his last conversation with Aspara. She was a mystery, a book he had tried to crack, yet had gotten nothing from her but ambiguous answers at best. 

 

What was she hiding..?

 

“...And on the fourth day of the eighth month, Zarbon and Dodoria were executed for conspiring to assassinate the king.”

 

“Yes,” Vegeta said, pulled out of his thoughts. “As I recall, it was Mr. Brief who warned me.”

 

“Yeah,” Krillin said, looking up from his pad. “Good thing you dodged that bullet.”

 

“Has the old man ever been rewarded for that?”

 

Krillin scanned his pad for a moment and shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it, your Majesty. But I don’t think he was expecting one.”

 

“All the more reason to reward him,” the king said as he stood and headed for the exit. “Have Raditz meet me in the throne room in an hour. He may have some ideas.”

 

“Right away, your Majesty,” his secretary enthused.

 

“Oh, and Krillin,” the king said as he turned to him, indicating the broken droids before leaving, “have maintenance clean up this mess.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Raditz couldn’t get to the throne room fast enough. The king had called for him. Now was his chance to propose to him that Mr. Brief be executed. About time. The old man’s insolence and his refusal to kneel before the royal adviser could not go unpunished.

 

King Vegeta was seated on his throne when Raditz burst through the door.

 

“You called for me, Sire?” he asked as dignified as possible.

 

“Yes, Raditz,” the king said. “I just need your help with something.”

 

“Anything, your Majesty,” the adviser bowed.

 

“Tell me, Raditz,” the king began as he stood, “what do you think should be done for the man your king wishes to honor?”

 

Raditz’s heart raced with excitement. Surely his Majesty wished to honor  _ him! _ Who else was more worthy than the royal adviser to the king?

 

“Well, your Majesty,” he said, clearing his throat, “I would dress him in the finest clothes, present him to the kingdom and declare, ‘This is the man the king wishes to honor.’”

 

Vegeta thought about the suggestion for a moment and nodded.

 

“Very well,” the king said as he took his seat again. “Go get Mr. Brief and do with him exactly as you suggested.”

 

Raditz’s face fell. Mr. Brief?  _ Mr. Brief? _ That foul, human  _ weakling?! _ It was all the Saiyan could do not to vomit! Nevertheless, he swallowed his disgust and bowed.

 

“As... you wish, Sire.”

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

It was humiliating. Parading this lowly, weak human dressed as fine as King Vegeta himself all over the kingdom declaring him as the man the king has honored. It was beneath him. The crowds cheering for a mere carpenter and maintenance man. All that praise should have been for the royal advisor instead. It was a sick joke from the gods, and Raditz wasn’t laughing.

 

He was practically ill by the time it was over, and he stumbled into his quarters with the mind to teach that human a lesson. How  _ dare _ he win the king’s favor. He was  _ human,  _ and his race needed to be punished.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

It took weeks for him to finally have an audience with the king outside of his regular duties. He had his plan ready, and was eager to carry it out when the moment finally came.

 

“What is it you want, Raditz?” the king asked.

 

The Saiyan knelt before him, pad in hand. “Your Majesty, it has come to my attention that there is a sect who’s planning to overthrow your kingdom. They are powerful and will triumph over us if a preemptive strike isn’t issued against them. They must be eliminated, Sire.”

 

“Agreed,” the king affirmed without hesitation. “Issue a warrant for their deaths at once!”

 

“I’ve already drawn out the orders, your Majesty,” Raditz said, handing him the pad. “All it needs is your signature and thumbprint.” The king’s signature would make it official. His thumbprint would make it irrevocable.

 

“Excellent,” Vegeta said as he took the pad, keyed in his signature codes and scanned his thumbprint.

 

Raditz tried to suppress a wicked smile, knowing that soon the humans would be no more.


	6. Chapter 6

Bulma had hoped Vegeta would return to her. Hoped that he would put down his pride and make the first move, even request her presence. But more than a month had passed, and she wasn’t sure when or if he would speak with her again.

 

What was she even thinking? How could she have thought things would be just fine between them if she kept her secret? She had lied to him from the get-go. Sure, she was honest about other things, but not about herself.

 

Bulma kept up with her duties as usual. When she wasn’t working, she would read or take walks in the garden alone or with her father. Sometimes she would talk with Chi-Chi or visit her and Kakarot. But most of the time she would be alone, missing her king, wondering what he was doing, who’s arms he would be in each night. It was all she could do to keep her sanity.

 

Chi-Chi was with Bulma in her quarters tending to her as usual. There was a knock on the door, and she answered to a young Saiyan holding a folded slip of paper.

 

“Hello, Cabba,” Chi-Chi greeted as she let him in. Cabba acknowledged her before approaching the queen.

 

“Forgive the intrusion, your Majesty,” the boy said, bowing. “I have a message from Mr. Brief. He says it’s urgent.”

 

Bulma thanked Cabba as he handed her the note and read it once the boy had left:

  
  
  


My dear Bulma,

 

Something dreadful has happened. The king has

issued a decree to exterminate the humans

in a preemptive strike on the 5 th day of the

6 th month. It is imperative that you speak

with him at once.

 

Shenron be with you.

 

Sincerest regards, Father.

  
  


“What is it,” Chi-Chi asked as the queen sank into her couch, shaking and gasping.

 

Unable to speak, Bulma handed her the note. Chi-Chi sat next to her as she read it.

 

“How… how could he?” Bulma said finally, her voice hoarse with disbelief. “Why would he do this?”

 

“I think you should do what your father suggested and speak with-”

 

“I can’t!” the queen snapped. “You know what would happen if I do.”

 

“Then, what else are we supposed to do? Sit here and do nothing until we’re all slaughtered?”

 

Their conversation was interrupted by another knock.

 

It was Kakarot. The door shut behind him as he pulled his wife into his arms.

 

“Did you guys hear about the king’s order against the humans?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Chi-Chi answered. “What are we gonna do?” After a moment, Kakarot approached the queen and bowed.

 

“Your Majesty, I believe my brother somehow tricked the king into signing that decree,” he explained. “He’s big and tough, but he has a silver tongue. He’s been manipulating his Majesty for years, hoping for an opportunity to use him to kill the humans.

 

“Highness, I beg you,” he pleaded as he fell at her feet. “For my wife’s sake, for the sake of all the humans on Sadala, please, speak with the king. Whatever it takes, please convince him to spare them.”

 

“I wish I could,” the queen told him, ignoring the lump in her throat. “But you know the circumstances. He could execute me.”

 

“Your Majesty,” he said as he stood, Chi-Chi moving to his side. “You’re the only one that can convince him.”

 

“Bulma, please?” his wife begged.

 

The queen was silent and at a loss. Risk death at the hand of her own husband or let them all die. The choice was simple, but if the king had her executed it would do no one any good in the end.

 

She turned to her window, looking out into the garden where she had spent so many hours praying and seeking solace, hoping her king would reach out to her again. Now the lives of her people were at stake. It was all she could do not to fall apart.

 

“Leave me, both of you,” she ordered in a hitched voice.

 

Her heart sank as the door closed behind her. How she wished she could sprout wings and fly through her window, far away from the turmoil her life had become.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Hours passed as Bulma sat, note clutched in her hands, numb and completely lost. How the hell did it even come to this? There was no guarantee she would find mercy with the king. Even if she did, would she be able to live a lie for the rest of her life? Would her father and friends really be spared if she went to him?

 

She thought of her life on the Roshi, of her mother and sister and how much simpler her life was before the Saiyans captured them. Even life here before being taken to the palace was simple. She could be herself and live her life on her terms. But from the moment she’d crossed the threshold, she was forced to lie about who she was to preserve her own life.

 

She knew the only way out was to not only appeal for the lives of her friends, but tell King Vegeta the truth, and both were risks she wasn’t sure she could take.

 

There was a knock. “Go away!” she yelled, thinking it was Chi-Chi. The door opened, nonetheless, and her father stepped inside.

 

“Dad,” she cried as she ran into his arms and wept. “What are we going to do?” she managed as she composed herself.

 

He pulled away, regarding her sternly. “You  _ know _ what you have to do, Bulma,” he admonished.

 

“I can’t,” she told him. “He could have me executed.”

 

“And if you do nothing, we  _ all _ die!” Mr. Brief scolded.

 

Shaking and dumbstruck, Bulma turned away from him, thinking about what she had said the first time she met the king. She’d said she would risk her life to protect the humans. Now here she was, faced with that reality. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as she silently berated herself for being such a hypocrite.

 

“Bulma,” her father said, “do you remember when I told you at your reception that Shenron placed you here for a purpose?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Well, I believe this is it. He’s put you here to save us all from this threat.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Look at me, Bulma.”

 

Reluctantly, she turned and faced him. Her father looked at her for a moment before reaching into his pocket. “I fixed this for you and thought you might want it back,” he said before placing the object into her hand.

 

_ Her seven star dragon orb. _

 

It had been over a year since she’d lost it, when the Saiyans took her and her life was changed forever. She realized now that her faith had been waning, and she had lost her resolve because of it.

 

Perhaps the king had noticed it, too. It was her resolve that had attracted him to her in the first place. It was time he knew the truth, and she now realized that it was worth the risk.

 

The orb was always her constant reminder of Shenron’s faithfulness. He had not forsaken her thus far, and he wasn’t going to start now.

 

“Alright,” she said finally. “But first, have everyone at home pray for me for the next three days. Chi-Chi and I will pray as well. Then, I’ll go speak with the king. 

 

“And if I die, so be it.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Have you lost your mind?”

 

Bulma had asked Piccolo to bring her the same garments and accessories she’d worn the day of her coronation. Thinking it strange, he asked what her intentions were. When she told him, he blurted out the question as if scolding his own child.

 

She went into her room to change, having requested to Piccolo that he wait for her.

 

“You’re  _ mad!” _ He snapped when she emerged from her room.

 

“Is that any way to speak to your queen, Piccolo?” she asked, half-teasing.

 

“Your Majesty,” he said, calming his tone, “I’m serious. I know the law. Just because you’re queen does not make you exempt.”

 

“Have a little faith, my friend,” she said as she checked her appearance in the mirror, adjusting the headpiece with shaky hands.

 

“You honestly think dressing the way you did for your coronation is going to preserve you?”

 

“As I recall, it was also my wedding.”

 

“This is reckless behavior,” he spat. “Even for a Saiyan.”

 

“Well, newsflash. I’m not Saiyan,” she confessed, surprised at how good it felt to finally say those words.

 

Piccolo gasped. “You’re… What?”

 

“I’ll explain later,” she said as she approached him. “Piccolo, you’ve been a great help to me since I came here,” she told him. “I doubt his Majesty would’ve chosen me without your assistance. I would be honored if you’d escort me to the throne room.”

 

“Is that an order?” he asked.

 

“A request,” she assured him.

 

“Then, I decline,” he said. “I will not escort my queen to her death.”

 

His choice was understandable, yet still left a pang in her chest. During preparations, Piccolo had mentored her through the whole process. It only seemed fitting for him to accompany her for this. He had earned this privilege. But, since he’d refused, so be it.

 

“Alright,” she said finally. “It’s your choice.” She brushed past him and headed for the door before turning back to him.

 

“Thank you, Piccolo,” she told him. “For everything.” Misty eyed, she approached him, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek before leaving.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

Bulma strode purposefully down the corridor. Her heart galloped wildly, her mouth dry, the rush of her own blood in her ears. Yet, she proceeded with her head held high, ready to meet her fate like the queen she was.

 

The lives of her people were now in her hands. This was Shenron’s will. Even if she didn’t find mercy with the king, she prayed for another way for the humans to be saved.

 

Once Bulma reached the throne room she cracked the doors open, only to hear several masculine voices inside.

 

She hesitated. Would he call for her execution in front of his men for no other reason than to save face?

 

At first, Bulma entertained the thought of putting this off until the king was alone. But she knew if she did, she would lose courage and not go to him at all.

 

So, like a cowboy in an old Western, she pushed through the doors.

 

King Vegeta remained seated as he stared at her, surprised. Raditz stood at his place next to the throne, glaring at her. The other men watched her as she proceeded down the aisle, regal and proud as she concealed her fear. Some of the men bowed to her as she passed while others made questioning remarks between them.

 

Once Bulma reached the throne she knelt before the king, waiting. Time stopped. All was quiet, except for her rioting heartbeat. Memories raced through her mind. Memories of her family. Her friends. The ship that was their home for as long as she could remember. Stories her father would tell her of Shenron. Stories her mother told her before she went to sleep. Late night conversations with her sister. The first gadget she’d built. The street market. Her home.

 

Bulma wasn’t aware the king had approached her until his feet were in front of her. She exhaled when he placed his right hand on top of her head, signifying to all that her life was to be spared.

 

“Leave us,” the king ordered. Raditz hesitated, but Vegeta shot him a look that told him to proceed. Once they were alone the king backed away, allowing his queen to stand.

 

“Thank you,” she said, holding her chest.

 

He remained silent for a moment, sizing her up the way he did the day they had met. In this throne room. In this spot.

 

“Coming here was a bold move,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”

 

Now Bulma was silent. The king had spared her. Now, what? If she was going to persuade him to do as she asked, she had to do this right.

 

King Vegeta’s hard expression changed to a smile as he chuckled. “I’m surprised you didn’t come here sooner,” he quipped.

 

“His Majesty threatened to execute me,” she accused.

 

“I said I would deal with you according to the law,” he explained, “which states that I could execute you or let you live as I see fit.”

 

“I took a calculated risk,” she admitted. “I also know you’re a proud man, loath to make the first move. Nevertheless, I do have an urgent request or I would’ve not taken that risk.”

 

His eyes widened as if struck by her words. An ‘urgent request’ was what it took for her to approach him. What did he expect? Didn’t it occur to him he’d made this moment impossible outside of such circumstances?  

 

“My queen,” he said fondly, “I’d hoped you would trust me enough to come to me with your secrets. Rest assured I have no desire to render you harm. On the contrary, I would give you half the planet if you asked.”

 

The wheels in Bulma’s head turned as she realized this wasn’t the time or place, especially if she was going to tell King Vegeta the truth.

 

“Your Majesty,” she said, bowing, “I ask that the king and his adviser join me for the midday meal tomorrow. I will make my request then.”

 

The king regarded her as she straightened. It took him a moment to answer.

 

“We will join you,” he said. “I look forward to hearing your request.”

 

Bulma bowed her head and thanked him before he dismissed her. 

 

May her plan save them all!

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

The king and his adviser arrived as expected. Chi-Chi had prepared a sumptuous assortment of meat, fruit and cakes, and an ample supply of wine. Once preparations were complete, Bulma dismissed her so she could be alone with her guests.

 

The two men ate their fill and drank as they talked and laughed like old chaps. Bulma drank only enough to calm her nerves, not wanting to be reckless.

 

“So, my queen,” Vegeta said, “what is your request? Name it and it’s yours.”

 

This was it. The moment that would determine the fate of the humans. She didn’t even care if it was the wine talking. This was her moment and she had to take it.

 

She stood and approached the king, reading his expression, determined to make herself heard.

 

Her mind drifted to her father. To Chi-Chi. To her mother and sister. To all the people she knew from the Roshi. The ones who were lost in the attack and the survivors who were now counting on her.

 

The gravity of her situation, of this moment, all rained down on her. Sobs wracked her as she threw herself at his feet, literally holding on to his ankles.

 

“Your Majesty,” she wept, “I plead for my _ life! _ Mine and the lives of my people!”

 

“ _ What _ are you talking about?” he asked.

 

Bulma took a moment to collect herself before standing. She reached into her pocket and held out her hand, her necklace dangling from her fingers.

 

“Sire,” Raditz questioned, “is this some sort of talisman?”

 

“Not a talisman,” the king explained as he stood, “a totem. The sacred orb of Shenron, dragon god of the humans.” Vegeta stared at her in disbelief. Raditz sat with his mouth agape.

 

“You…” the king stammered. “You’re-”

 

“Human,” she said as she dropped her arm. “My name is Bulma. Your servant, Brief, is my father.”

 

It took Vegeta a few moments to get over the shock. She was _ human! _ Had been this whole time. How could he not have known?

 

He shook his head, clearing it before speaking again. “Look, Aspara… Bulma… I have no quarrel with your people. I assure you, I have approved no such orders against them.”

 

So, Kakarot was right. The king _ had _ been duped. Bulma exhaled, turning to his adviser.

 

“Tell him, Raditz,” she ordered. “Tell his Majesty how you deceived him into signing our death warrant.”

 

King Vegeta turned to Raditz in shock.

 

“You told me it was a sect more powerful than us,” the king recalled. “The humans are weaker than we are and have never given me any reason to consider them a threat.”

 

“They have weapons, Sire,” Raditz said as he stood. “If this...” he pointed at Bulma “this human deceived you, what does that say about her race?”

 

“You’re Majesty,” the queen interjected, “you’ve given us our freedom and allowed us to live in peace. If anything, we are grateful. We have no reason to harm you or overthrow your kingdom.”

 

“Lies!” Raditz accused. “She posed as a Saiyan to infiltrate the palace. She beguiled you to take her as queen to dilute the royal bloodline.”

 

Bulma gave Raditz an eye-roll. “Right,” she snickered. “Like the humans were really going to send a woman with blue hair and blue eyes to pose as a Saiyan and spy on the king. Sorry, but that one’s on the men that brought me here.”

 

“Sire, she lied to you. Deceived you-”

 

“Only because of asses like you who want us all  _ dead!” _ the queen spat.

 

“Your Majesty, please,” but there was nothing more to be said.

 

The king looked at both of them as if trying to decide which was the lesser of two evils before storming out of the room.

 

Raditz held his queen in a death stare as he sauntered over to her.

 

She watched as he meandered her quarters. “You know, I would just love to see these plain, white walls decorated...” He glared at her, “with your _ blood!” _

 

Before she could blink, Raditz had her pinned against the wall by her throat.

 

“You’ve lost, human,” he hissed. “Your people will die regardless of what his Majesty decides to do with us. The decree is irrevocable. Not even the king himself can change it. Consider that as you-”

 

“ _ Raditz!” _

 

Startled, the tall Saiyan released Bulma and turned to see King Vegeta, flanked by Kakarot and Nappa. Bulma collapsed to the floor, coughing.

 

“Guards, take this man and execute him at once for attempting to murder the queen,” Vegeta ordered.

 

The guards didn’t hesitate, seizing Raditz as the king rushed to Bulma’s side and helped her to her feet.

 

“Kakarot,” Raditz said, “surely you’re not going to escort your own brother to his death.”

 

“Anyone who wishes to harm the queen or my wife is not my brother,” Kakarot declared as he and Nappa dragged Raditz out of the queen’s quarters.

 

Vegeta helped Bulma to the couch and offered her some water, which she gratefully accepted. After a minute or so, the coughing subsided.

 

“Are you alright?” the king asked sincerely.

 

She nodded as they fell silent. He knew the truth. Knew who she was. There was no going back now.

 

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” was the best she could give him.

 

He nodded. “I understand why you did.”

 

“So, is it true? The order is irrevocable?”

 

“I’m afraid so,” he replied somberly. Panic began to settle in her, and Vegeta noticed.

 

“I’ll have Krillin look through it to see if he can find a loophole,” Vegeta offered. “I’ll do everything I can to prevent it, but I can’t break the law. Not without losing the respect of my people.”

 

Bulma understood. Making some decrees irrevocable was necessary to prevent the king from changing his mind, especially regarding military action, ensuring his people would be safe from enemy attack. Though her own race was no threat, he could not make an exception, as much as he wanted to.

 

A loophole was their only way out. Otherwise, they were done for.


	8. Chapter 8

The king was in his quarters with Bulma and her father when Krillin contacted him about the decree.

 

On the Roshi, Krillin had a knack for finding things that didn’t seem to be there, from civilizations sensors couldn’t detect to proverbial subtext in a diplomacy agreement. If there was a loophole, he would find it.

 

There was no loophole to be found.

 

“Vegeta, you can’t do this,” the queen begged, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re the  _ king. _ There’s  _ got _ to be something else. Some other way to stop this.”

 

Vegeta looked at her, conflicted. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do,” he told her. “If I, the king, refuse to obey the law, what sort of ruler would I be?”

 

“Your Majesty,” Mr. Brief interjected, “I believe the only solution is for our people to be armed and ready for the attack. I can upgrade our weapons and make more. There will be casualties on both sides, but at least we’ll have a fighting chance.”

 

Vegeta considered it for a moment. It was a costly solution, but what else was there?

 

“I‘ll allow it,” the king said. “Tell the humans and their allies to join forces. I understand the stakes, but it’s the best I can do.”

 

“I can help,” Bulma offered. “My father taught me a lot about engineering and building weapons,” she told her husband. “If we work together, we can have our side armed and ready when the time comes.”

 

Vegeta regarded her and her father with a weary smile. “See to it,” he ordered.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

It didn’t take long for Bulma and her father to upgrade their weapons. Thanks to resources from Vegeta, they were able to produce enough firearms for the battle ahead.

 

When the day finally arrived, the humans and their allies were ready. Under the king’s orders, they were told it was a test to prove themselves a formidable race worthy of respect. If they knew his Majesty had signed the decree by mistake, it would sully his reputation. Mercifully, they bought it.

 

King Vegeta had no choice but to lead the attack, as it was his custom. But he promised to call a ceasefire if possible.

 

Bulma watched from the balcony as the exchange of gunfire and ki blasts rang from the West region. The battle persisted through the night, illuminating the inky sky. All the while the queen prayed for minimal casualties and a quick end to the battle.

 

Six days passed before King Vegeta called for a ceasefire. Only eight people, most of them Saiyan, were slain. It was a bittersweet victory for both sides. The king did not lose respect of his people and the humans prevailed.

 

A mass funeral for the fallen was held on palace grounds. The king personally saw to it that all eight were buried with full military honors, stating that this was the beginning of a new era of peace and civility between Saiyans and humans.

 

“I have issued a decree,” he announced, “permitting the humans to defend themselves against attack and use whatever means to preserve their race. They are to be respected as much as any other race on the planet. I have even chosen a human to serve as my new adviser.”

 

The king looked over to his father-in-law and called him forward.

 

“Mr. Brief,” King Vegeta continued. “You are one of my most trustworthy employees, and your intellect and insight have proven invaluable. Do you accept the office of chief adviser to the king?”

 

The old man gasped in astonishment. In all the years he had served the king, he never thought he would be offered such a high position in the palace.

 

“Uh… I… um, y-yes!” he stammered. “I would be honored.”

 

As the crowd cheered, Mr. Brief looked over to his daughter as she beamed at him with pride.

 

She was right where she belonged, happily at the side of her king. The humans were now respected by the Saiyans, and Mr. Brief was given one of the highest offices in the kingdom.

 

Shenron had indeed been faithful.

 

o-o-o-o-o

 

“Are you ever going to tell them the truth?” Bulma asked as she and the king headed for the West region.

 

“Never,” he replied, his hand clasping hers. “I’ve already explained why.”

 

“Where I come from, we admire leaders who own up to their mistakes,” she explained.

 

“Darling,” he purred, “we’ve been  _ over _ this for, what, a year, now? I’ve told you, Saiyans aren’t so forgiving.”

 

“You forgave me when I told you the truth,” she reminded for the umpteenth time.

 

He pulled her close to him. “Only because you made such an impression on me,” he teased.

 

“Is that why you’ve allowed all your human employees to have today off?” she smirked.

 

“Your father can be very persuasive,” the king admitted.

 

They bantered on until their coach stopped at West Region Temple.

 

“’Bout time you two showed up,” Mr. Brief greeted as the royal couple disembarked.

 

“Oh, come on, dad,” Bulma giggled as she embraced her father. “You know how I love to make a grand entrance.”

 

The old man bowed to the king in greeting before leading the royal couple to the backlot of the temple.

 

A potluck spread was laid out on a picnic table, and children were playing games befitting a carnival.

 

“What’s all this?” the king asked in amusement.

 

“Our annual feast,” Mr. Brief explained. “We call it, ‘The Feast of Aspara,’ in celebration of how our brave queen saved us. We celebrate with food and games, and I just told the whole story to the children. You should’ve heard them booing every time I mentioned Raditz.”

 

“Too bad we missed that,” Bulma laughed as she placed a hand on her swollen belly. “I’m just glad we can raise our child in a peaceful world now without having to worry about the Saiyans.”

 

King Vegeta cleared his throat, quirking a brow.

 

“Yes, I know, darling,” Bulma cooed. “You played a role in this, too. And your people respect us because of it. However, that wouldn’t have been the case if I hadn’t broken protocol, now would it?” she quipped before giving him a playful peck on the cheek.

 

“By the way,” she said, changing the subject as she walked with him hand-in-hand, “did I tell you what the doctor said about our son? Said he’s generating a lot of power for a child at this stage. I hope you’re okay with having a son who might grow up to be more powerful than you.”

 

“We’ll soon see,” Vegeta said, sounding more amused than annoyed.

 

“Meantime,” Bulma said as she looked over at the potluck spread. “Baby and I are hungry. Besides, it would be rude if we didn’t partake with our friends.”

 

King Vegeta smiled at his queen.

 

_ His queen. _

 

If he could choose again, knowing what he knew, he wouldn’t choose differently.


End file.
